The Last Unbroken Heart
by flashpenguin
Summary: Nursing a broken heart over Strauss's murder, Dave takes his vacation in Las Vegas. Unbeknownst to him, Sin To Win has been moved to Sin City - at his hotel – no less! And Emily is about to walk thru the door. Throw in a dare, Mai-Tais, a wayward Cupid's bow, and numerous bumps in the road… Could the fifth time be the charm?
1. Chapter 1

_Well, here is my first original story in nearly a year. Between work and double shifts, I really haven't given much time to writing. Doesn't mean it isn't nagging in the back of my mind, but right now, life is more important. This is going to be a multi-chaptered story that will be continued. I just ask that you be patient._

_Now, for the premise: Nursing a broken heart over Strauss's murder, Dave takes his vacation in Las Vegas. Unbeknown to him, Sin To Win has been moved to Sin City, and at his hotel – no less! – and Emily is about to walk thru the door. Throw in a dare, Mai-Tais, a wayward Cupid's bow, and numerous bumps in the road… Could the fifth time be the charm?_

_Song prompt: **"The Last Unbroken Heart" by Patti La Belle and Bill Champlin.**_

_Dedicated to my children. I love you more than you'll ever know, and I'm so proud to have you in my life._

* * *

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

Heavy tapestries covered the windows, but stubborn stray sun streaks still managed to make their way in to the dark hotel room to land on the prone body lying on the Queen-sized bed. Throwing her arm across her face, Emily Prentiss groaned and tried to block the offensive intruder, and her head threatened to explode from that bit of effort. _Where the hell was she?_

Rolling to her side, her hand brushed against the comforter and froze. Tentatively, she poked the mound and felt what she hoped was a body. She breathed a sigh of relief. It was, though she had no idea how he – or herself, for that matter – got here. But at least he was still warm, and that was one less excuse she would have to come up with should the police start knocking on her door. Naked, hung over, and in bed with a stranger… There was no way she could talk her way out of this one.

Well, with any luck, she could get dressed and leave before her stranger at the moment of need woke with questions of his own that she wasn't going to answer. Oh, God! How could she have broken her self-imposed rule about one-night stands? What could have caused her to chuck everything out the window? He must have been one helluva lover…if only she could remember.

Emily rolled over and groaned. She tried to open her eyes, but it hurt too much to exert even that little bit of effort. In fact, she doubted there was a part of her body that _didn't_ hurt. She couldn't recall the last time sex had left her feeling as though she had finished a NYC Marathon. At least her lover had stamina - too bad there wasn't any left over to share, she quipped to herself.

Mustering every bit of energy she had, she managed to swing her legs over the side of the mattress and sit up. With another groan, she wiggled her toes. No pain. Well, at least something was still working. Now, she would try standing up. Immediately, her stomach lurched from the sudden movement. _Oh God! How many did I knock back?_ Emily thought to herself. At that moment, she forever swore off Mai-Tais prepared by gorgeous body builders masquerading as bartenders.

Squinting in the semi-darkness, she looked down and groaned to herself. She should get dressed, but where were her clothes? A quick scan around the room revealed nothing to indicate their whereabouts. Her thoughts were interrupted by a screaming bladder. Nature's call came first before modesty.

Shuffling slowly to the bathroom, she closed the door and threw the lock. Her guest probably would want to use the facilities too, but she woke up first – besides, he was in _her _room; he could wait.

An expletive tore from her lips when she turned on the lights, and a hundred hammers banged inside her skull. How could she have forgotten about hangovers? Except, she argued, this was the hangover from hell, and it was kicking her ass.

Relieving herself, she debated taking a shower. At least it couldn't hurt, she reasoned, besides, the stranger could fend for himself. In her alcohol fogged mind, it made good sense. She would wake up, clean up, get the best hangover remedy the dining room had to offer, then she was going to bed for the rest of the week.

Yawning, she turned on the water faucet and began splashing cold water on her face. The shock of cold on her skin helped bring her back to sobriety. Drying her face on a towel, she peered at herself. God, she looked like hell, she sighed before her eyes caught something. She leaned in closer. Was that a hickey?!

"No," she whispered aloud. "Oh God! He gave me a hickey?! How old is this guy?" She examined the mark and cursed. Of course she _had_ to go to bed with some Neanderthal who assumed he had to brand his women – and, of course, he had to do it in an area she couldn't cover with a simple turtleneck. This was going to call for concealer – and a lot of it.

"PG and Jayje are never going to let me live this down," she muttered. "Of all the stupid things…" Her words trailed off as she caught a flash of something out of the corner of her eye. "What in the -?" Stupefied, she looked at the large carat diamond glittering on her left hand. A diamond ring? How did that get there, and what exactly _did_ she do last night?

Bits of memory flashed before her eyes as the pieces slowly fell into place. Then the realization hit her.

"Oh my God! I'm married!"  
*******

Coming back to consciousness, Dave Rossi decided he was going to strangle whoever was making the pounding noise that was disturbing his sleep. If he could get the cymbals in his head to calm down for one minute, he was going to give holy hell to his next door neighbour about respecting vacations.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to lick his lips but his mouth was dry. What the hell did he drink last night, cotton-balls? He should have stayed with Scotch – it was safe and he knew his limits - he never went crazy and woke up with a hangover that threatened to beat him down. Once or twice – okay, just recently - he had drunk himself into a stupor, but he always had valid excuses. Last night was anything but a valid excuse – if only he could remember why.

Moving his legs, he moaned in agony. He didn't know who was responsible for making him lower his guard and tie it on like a sailor back from sea, but if he got hold of her… He tried to pull her image up in his memory, but the strain was too much and vertigo began to set in. Lying back on the pillow, he took deep breaths and tried to calm the churning in his stomach. He needed to get down to the dining room and see if they had a remedy to get him semi-functioning so he could join the living.

Humming filtered in from the bathroom, he smiled. Ah, the woman who helped him tie more than a few on. She was going to answer some questions for him, then he was leaving...unless he could talk her into having dinner with him. What ever she had done to him had to be nothing short of a miracle, because he had never felt so…

Through hangover misted eyes, he glanced in the direction where the brass valet should be, instead, a chair and table stood tucked in the corner of the room. Where were his jeans? Pulling the covers down, he blinked once, then twice. This wasn't his room. Where was he? Where was his penthouse? What the hell happened last night?!

Brushing a lock of hair from his forehead, he felt something cold pass over his skin. "What in the -?" he muttered as his eyes adjusted to the dim room so he could see. Once, twice, he blinked as his brain tried to comprehend the wide silver band encircling his left ring finger.

A second later an expletive followed. He was married! To whom?! When?! Shit! How drunk _had_ he gotten last night? His brain tried to spin non-existent answers to the same questions he kept repeating. He had to get to his room!

He started to jump out of bed when it dawned on him that he was naked. A quick glance downward. This wasn't happening_. God help him, Hotch was never going to let him live this down. Of all the stupid things… Hung-over, a wedding band, and God only knew who was on the other side of the bathroom door. Could it get any worse?_

"_Oh my God! I'm married!"_ the voice in the bathroom cried out._ Why did that voice sound familiar_, he wondered before the door was flung open. Dave blinked in surprise. Was that Emily Prentiss standing in the doorway in nothing but a towel? As St. Peter was his witness, from that moment on, he was swearing off alcohol.

"David Rossi, what the hell are you doing in my bed, and what the hell did we do last night?" Emily croaked in a tight voice tinged with anger and fear.

Glancing at the ring on his finger, then at the large diamond on Emily's left hand, he tried to find the right words to explain the moment. Instead, he gave her his infamous charming smile and replied, "Well, Emily, I think we got married."


	2. Chapter 2

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

"Did you just say that we're _married_?!" Emily sputtered in disbelief. Her beautiful brown eyes were wide with surprise and shock. Her fingers suddenly began to itch and her cuticles promised to make things better. She resisted the urge to give in. _Just breathe, Emily, just keep breathing_.

Dave prided himself for having grace under pressure and the ability to mask his emotions even when confronted with the most gruesome of cases. All of his ex-wives had remarked that his poker face was a blessing and a curse. Right now he was drawing on everything he had to remain calm so he could get to the bottom of what could possibly be the biggest blunder of his life.

"Well, Emily, if the ring on my finger, and the ring on your finger are a good indicator… I would say…that…yes, we are married," he concluded matter of factly.

Unable to think of a witty response, Emily leaned back against the door frame for support. "How? When?" Desperately she tried to conjure up any memory of what had transpired the night before, but her mind was blank.

Dave shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. As for the 'how', the hang-over we are both experiencing might be able to explain that one."

Emily tugged at her towel. She could feel the world begin to spin. "I – I…this…we…this is not possible." Her laugh was short and breathy. "There has to be a mistake."

Pulling the covers aside, Dave stood up. "You're naked!" Emily called out. Immediately her hand flew to cover her eyes. Too late. The image of Dave Rossi naked was burned in her brain. Permanently. _This isn't happening,_ she told herself. At that moment, she swore off all alcohol.

Nonplussed by her outburst, Dave glanced down. "It would appear that way. From what I can see, you're not exactly dressed for the party, either." Swiftly – or rather as swiftly as his aching body would allow – he walked over to the large bureau against the far wall.

"Could you put some clothes on, please?" she retorted angrily.

"Marriage creating modesty," he glanced back with a chuckle. "That's a first." He pulled the drawers open. He tossed something toward Emily. "Here, you might need these."

She looked at the bra and panties in her hand. "Thanks. Rossi…"

"Ah. Here it is." He waved the white paper. "You might want to see this." In a second, Emily was beside him. "There it is, in black and white, sweetheart." He waited for her to read the damning words. "Looks pretty official to me."

Emily groaned. "What exactly did we do last night? Do you remember anything?" She took the paper and scrutinized it for anything that would reveal that what was happening was nothing more than an elaborate practical joke.

"From the look of the room, I think we did a lot of things, Emily." He took a little pleasure from the way her cheeks flushed pink from embarrassment. That lasted only a moment. Her head snapped up. Fear was in her eyes.

"Did we…? Are you saying…?" She shook her head. "No. No. No, we didn't."

Dave walked over to the bed, bent over to pick up the purple wrappers on the carpet, then held them up. "I would say from the amount of wrappers, we did…_many_ times." He raised an eyebrow. "'Ribbed for her pleasure'," he read the words aloud. He cocked his head and re-read the description. "I _bought_ these?"

"Oh, God. I think I'm going to be ill." Emily swallowed hard and tried to stop the black dots dancing in front of her eyes. Blindly she felt for the wall as her knees began to shake.

"Come here." Dave guided her to the bed and helped her sit down. "Better?"

"We're…we're…" She tried to say the word, but couldn't. To do so would make it real. As long as she didn't say it, she could live in the moment of hang-over ignorance.

"Married?" Dave supplied.

Her eyes narrowed. "Why are you smiling? Do you think this is funny?"

"If you look at it from my point of view…"

Emily held up her hand. "The only 'point of view' here, is that we are in deep shit, Rossi. We're _married_!"

He nodded. "You're correct, there. So, what do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know." She hung her head. "I don't know. But there has to be a way out of this…someone we can call who can fix this."

"I have a lawyer friend-"

Emily's eyes blazed hot with anger. "Don't you dare call Hotch!"

"Don't worry, Emily, he's the last person I want to talk to right now. If you remember," he continued, "I have been married three times before, so I know people."

"I never figured you to have a divorce lawyer on speed-dial," Emily remarked sarcastically. "But at the moment, it makes sense…albeit odd sense."

"Never hurts to have all your bases covered." He patted her hand. "Tell you what, Emily. Get a shower, freshen up – I'll do the same – and we'll meet downstairs in the dining room, in say…" he glanced at his watch, "…oh, an hour?"

"And…what? We'll discuss divorce procedures over a Denver omelet?" she rolled her eyes.

Dave's brown eyes danced with mischief. "Unless you would rather call in room service…"

Emily stood up. "No, thank you!" She looked at the man who had once been her partner in the field, and was now – if the paper was correct – her partner in every other sense of the word. The same one who was knelt in front of her in the buff. She was going to be sick. "Could you put some clothes on?" she pleaded.

For a brief moment, he considered teasing her. But if the greenish tint in her features was an indicator, it might not be his wisest decision. "Sure." He titled his head toward the bathroom. "Mind if I take care of business, first?"

Emily nodded. "Go ahead." She closed her eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning. Vaguely she could hear the toilet flush and water run. A moment later the door opened.

"It's all yours," Dave offered with a gesture of his arm. Emily hurried to the bathroom. "I'll see you in an hour?" he asked as she began to close the door.

"In an hour," she hollowly repeated.

"We'll fix this, Emily. I promise," he vowed sincerely.

"Yeah." She closed the door soundly.

Dave looked at the door and sighed. _Of all the stupid things…_ No. He wouldn't think about that right now. What he needed to do was get Walter on the phone and figure out how to rectify this mess so he and Emily could part with some semblance of friendship still between them. He heard the shower turn on. That was his cue.

A brief search of the room turned up his clothes, and he donned them quickly. Once he got to his penthouse, he would make the calls. Grabbing the marriage license, he mentally listed all the things he had to do as he stepped out in the hallway.

"As long as one of those things isn't a call to Hotch," he muttered and closed the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here's what lead to the afternoon after..._

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

_The hotel bar, 18 hours earlier…_

_Dave Rossi sat at the bar and slowly nursed his scotch in the noisy bar. Maybe he should have stayed in his penthouse and gotten drunk there, but in some perverse way he needed to be in public. He couldn't explain what he was feeling, but at least he was finally feeling something. The psychiatrist he had counseled with had warned him that it would take time to get back to normal._

_Snorting softly, he took another sip of the amber liquid and relished in the way it burned a path down his throat. It was the sign of a well aged scotch. He glanced at the glasses next to his elbow. Usually three was his limit, but the one in his hand would make it four. He would cut himself off after this, he promised. Then, after he turned in, he would get up and start again. Eventually he would find out how much liquor it took to drown a broken heart._

"_This is for Erin," he muttered to no one in particular, raised the glass, and drank.  
*******_

_Emily Prentiss was on a natural high. Sin To Win had been moved to Vegas, and it was located in the best hotel on the strip! For the past five years it had been hosted in Atlantic City, but this year the venue had been moved. She had hesitated going back to Sin City – especially when the last time she had been here, she had gotten carried away to the point she almost forgot what she had done._

_But not this time, she vowed. She was going to party, but responsibly, and if somehow she managed to hook up with a great guy, she was going to be sober enough to remember every single moment. Besides, she was forty-two, and her body just didn't have the stamina anymore to dance on table tops._

_Of course, that didn't mean she wasn't going to hit the dance floor! She had two weeks of leave, and she was going to use every single moment to live it up! _

_Entering the bar, she looked around and spied the handsome man behind the counter. Short black sleeves of a t-shirt showed off massive biceps that shouted he probably spent more time pumping iron than pouring drinks. She could feel her mouth water and her body grow hot. She knew what she would like for him to bench press…_

"_Geez, Em," she chastised herself, "you are acting like a sex-starved, old maid. Go order the drink and slip him your number. Then, if he wants to come on to you…" She smiled at the naughty thought dancing in her head._

_Glancing at her watch, she calculated that she still had an hour to kill before everyone would arrive. That would give her enough time to chill out with a cold drink. Making her way across the hardwood floor, she plopped herself down on the middle stool._

"_Hey, handsome," she purred at the bartender. "Got anything to help cool a lady down?"_

"_Depends," the bartender replied, his hands busy drying the shot glasses on the tray. "What do you have in mind?"_

_Emily's fingernail traced an invisible pattern on the counter. "It depends, what is your specialty?"_

"_Well, some ladies like 'Sex On The Beach'," he said. _

_Emily smiled. "That sounds like fun," her double entendre was clear._

"_But my specialty is the meanest, most kick-ass Mai-Tai you'll ever have." He set the glass down and leaned forward. His smile widened. He appeared to be interested. Ever the trained profiler, Emily studied his body language for any signs that could indicate that he was pulling her leg. _

"_Sounds a little arrogant," she returned._

"_I could never lie to a lady." _

_Emily considered his offer. "Mix one for me, and we'll see."_

"_And then…?" He left the question open._

"_The night's still young."_

_Quickly, the bartender began mixing ingredients. Two minutes later he placed the chilled glass with the coloured umbrella in front of Emily. "Here you go."_

_Slowly she sipped. "Mmmm…this is good," she complimented. "This is really good. What are you doing later?"_

"_Depends."_

"_Have you ever been to a 'Sin To Win'?"_

"_No. What is it?"_

_Emily sipped again. If this guy was half as good as his bartending…she was going to have a helluva vacation. "I'd love to show you. What time do you get off?"_

"_Two hours."_

"_Works for me." Turning her head, she caught sight of the guy down at the end of the bar. "What's his story?" she asked._

"_A sad one. The love of his life was killed, so he's come to Vegas to drown his sorrows. The last three nights he's planted himself right there and orders the same thing. That's his fourth scotch, tonight. I don't know how he handles it, but he'll probably be leaving in an hour, and he'll be steady on his feet."_

"_You don't…" Emily stared at the salt n peppered hair. There was something vaguely familiar about the posture and body build, "…say. I think I know him. Hey…I didn't catch your name."_

"_Randy."_

"_Randy, you hold that thought; I'll be back," she winked at him and grabbed her drink. Measured steps took her toward the lonely figure. "Hey, can I buy you a drink?" she flirted. Then she gasped as the man turned to face her. "Rossi!"_

_His eyes were sad and lonely. The lines on his face were more prominent, as though grief and age had finally caught up with him. Maybe it was the scotch that lowered his defenses, or maybe he was tired of pretending that he was okay. Either way, Emily's heart went out to him._

"_Hello, Emily," his tone was flat. "What brings you here?"_

"_I could ask you the same thing. Mind if I have a seat?" _

"_Help yourself." He turned back toward his drink. "I thought you swore off Vegas after the last debacle."_

"_I had," she confirmed, "but everything was moved from Atlantic City to here. Guess it was cheaper. I couldn't resist getting some warmth and sun. And the oasis in the desert was too much to resist." She eyed the empty glasses. Three, and one in his hand. "What brings you out here?" she asked._

"_It was the furthest I could get away without having to reside in hell," he said and took a large swallow._

_Ah, California, Emily thought. If there were two things that didn't mix, it was Dave Rossi and California._

"_Uh, you're staying here?"_

"_Penthouse. You?"_

"_Queen-size on the ninth floor. Not as luxurious as your place, but I only need a place to lay my head." She searched for the right words. "I should go."_

"_Stay. Have a drink with me."_

"_Rossi…"_

"_Dave," he corrected. "Bartender? Another round, and one here for my colleague." A moment later the drinks arrived. "Hope you like scotch." He handed the glass to Emily. "Drink."_

"_A toast." She raised her glass. "Here's hoping that we can put the past where it belongs and find happiness here in Vegas."_

"_To Vegas," Dave said and clinked his glass to Emily's._

"_This is good," she remarked. "Smooth malt, aged to perfection. You have great taste."_

"_Except in love and women."_

"_We all have our cross to bear."_

"_What's yours?" he returned._

_Emily considered the question before replying, "My past." She took a swallow. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Randy openly flirted with a petite, blonde, perky, cheerleader type, bimbette. "Could explain why I can't find the right man…even for a night."_

"_Jilted?" He raised his eyebrow in the direction she was looking. "Ah. Randy. He's married."_

_She did a double take. "What?! How did you…?"_

_Dave brought the glass to his lips. "There is a faint tan line on his ring finger. Trust me, Emily; I've been here four nights in a row. He has gone home with almost that many women."_

"_I was going to be number four," she muttered angrily, though more at herself than the stud muffin making drinks._

"_You can drink with me," he invited._

_She looked at her watch. "I need to get going." She downed the scotch in one swallow and started to slide off the stool._

"_Ah. Your tournament. Well, have fun." He turned away from her._

_Every instinct in her body told her to move on. After all, it was Dave Rossi. He was a fussy, anal retentive, neat freak, arrogant loner. He wanted to be alone. Why else would he have gone to Vegas without telling anyone? He didn't want a drinking partner. He had already dismissed her. She just needed to turn around and leave…_

"_What the hell. It doesn't start for another hour, and you look like you need a friend." She sat back down. "I can have a couple of drinks before I get there. Besides, it's right around the corner. Name your poison."_

"_Scotch. Neat."_

"_Meh. Scotch. You have a resistance to the stuff, Rossi. In fact, I think it's your blood type," she snickered._

_He put down the glass. "What are you proposing? Not froo-froo drinks, I hope." He gave a scornful look at the half empty glass she had brought over._

"_Are you saying that a real man can't drink a Mai-Tai in public?" She raised her eyebrow to equal his._

"_I'm saying that a real man wouldn't be caught dead with a Mai-Tai in public, or anywhere, for that matter," he retorted with a confident tone._

_Emily licked her lips. "That sounds like a challenge. Tell you what, you have a Mai-Tai, and then I'll drink anything you want. Unless you're not game…"_

"_I'm always game, sweetheart. One Mai-Tai, then I choose. Sounds fair." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. "Hope you have a strong stomach."_

"_Stronger than yours," she threw back._

"_No one has ever drank a Rossi under the table and lived to tell the story," he snorted. _

"_Sounds like a challenge." Randy came over. "Two Mai-Tais," she ordered. "Make it heavy on the Tai."_

"_I won't be done in by a froo-froo drink; just warning you."_

"_We'll see." A couple of minutes later, their drinks were delivered. She watched as Dave plucked the umbrella out and tossed it to the bar. "Ready?"_

"_Ready when you are."_

"_And Rossi, the wood hurts when you hit it," she smiled._

"_Just so you know, you may have started a challenge war." He lifted his glass. Someone was going to win, and he wasn't about to lose to Emily Prentiss, he told himself._

"_Really?" She watched him smile with pride. She knew that look: he thought he had already won. Well, someone was going to win, and it wasn't going to be him, she vowed._

"_Game on!" She clinked her glass to his. _


	4. Chapter 4

_To all those who read, reviewed, and faved: Thank you so much! I can't tell you how please and surprised I am at the way this story has taken off. And the response has been overwhelming, to say the least! Here is another chapter. It's really a bridge to where everything could ultimately lead. And considering both characters are stubborn and pretty set in their independent ways, this direction could go anywhere!_

* * *

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

The hotel restaurant was beginning to fill with diners when Dave and Emily arrived. Taking in Dave's blood shot eyes and Emily's dark sunglasses, the hostess led the pair to a table set in the far corner. Explaining that their server would be with them shortly, she handed them the menus and wine list and filled their water glasses.

"Thank you," Dave replied. Nodding, the young woman left them alone. "Are you okay?" he asked Emily.

"Well, considering I have the headache from hell, and just found out that we were not as drunk as I had hoped when we took our vows…" she trailed off. Her hand shook as she brought the goblet to her lips. "I think I'm holding up as well as could be expected." She sized up her...partner. Other than his eyes, Dave seemed unfazed and cool as a cucumber. _Does anything bother him? _she fumed to herself.

"Would you have felt better had we been three sheets to the wind?" he countered.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But at least it would have explained our state of mind. Or lack thereof."

"I still don't remember much of what led us to the chapel, but we were in our right minds." Dave patted his breast pocket that held the CD containing the damning evidence of their moment of insanity. He tried not to think of the way they kissed when the preacher pronounced them husband and wife. He swallowed and tried to ignore the way his jeans were suddenly two sizes too small. He shifted in his chair. _Of all the times to swear off drinking,_ he cursed himself.

"What are we going to do? I have to go back to London in ten days, and you have to go back to the BAU; we can't be married," she stated the obvious.

"Why not? What's wrong with being married to me?" he volleyed back. His eyes held hers until she dropped her gaze and looked down. Nervously she began picking at the corner of the serviette.

She tried to come up with a logical excuse. "I don't think- "

"Good evening. My name is James, and I'll be your server. Would you like to start off with an appetizer?" The young man asked with a cordial smile. He set the basket of Italian bread in the centre of the table.

Dave glanced at the menu. "I'll have the New York Strip, well done. Baked Potato with every thing and that will be all."

Em folded her sunglasses and set them on the table, but didn't bother to open her menu. "Chef Salad with vinaigrette."

"Would you like anything to drink? Wine? A cocktail?" James offered, his pen poised and ready.

"Water will be just fine," Dave said and handed over the menus. He waited until they were alone to ask his question again. "Why not?"

"Because what we did wasn't right, Rossi," Emily shot back. Her shoulders stiffened as she tried to regain some of her regal Prentiss poise. "Even you have to admit that. We violated the FBI regs by doing what we did."

"You're not with the FBI anymore, Emily," he pointed out matter of factly. "And besides, we wouldn't be the first married couple at the FBI."

_Married twelve hours, and we're already nitpicking. _She rubbed her forehead with a weary hand. "You know what I mean, Rossi."

"Dave," he corrected.

She blinked. "What?"

"You can call me Dave, Emily; I'm sure the marriage license okays it," he joked lightly.

"Rossi…Dave," she corrected. One little word had managed to derail her train of thought. "I – You're the famous FBI profiler, what reason would you give for us doing what we did?"

Nonplussed, Dave reached over to the bread basket and took out a roll. Breaking it in half, he generously spread butter on one piece before taking a bite. Chewing slowly, he took a minute to consider his answer. "I don't know." He had been racking his brain since leaving her room earlier, but he was still no closer to an answer. All he had were bits and pieces of memory, and even those weren't falling into place.

"I remember seeing you at the bar and you asked me to have a drink…then everything becomes fuzzy right afterward," she admitted. Though fuzzy was a complete understatement.

"You talked me into drinking a Mai-Tai," Dave said as the memory slowly came back. "Then you challenged to drink me under the table. You laughed..." He tried to force more, but came up blank. "…and that's the last thing I remember."

"I didn't challenge you," she protested. Her stomach started to knot up at the thought.

"Yes, you did."

"That's not something I would do. Not to you, at least," she said seriously. Then she chuckled.

Dave was flummoxed. "What's so funny?"

"It's just…usually when I get drunk, I start dancing on the bar, ala 'Coyote Ugly' style," she flushed pink from embarrassment.

"Emily Prentiss has a secret side," Dave's eyes twinkled with humour. "Who knew?"

"Not too secret; PG and JJ know about it." She thought back to the last time she had gotten together with her friends for a girls' night out. It had been the night before Hotch's triathlon, and they had gotten too wasted for words. She remembered JJ doing a dirty dance with the Chippendale dancer, and PG standing up to do a karaoke song, before she stole the show with a dance on the bar. So, why couldn't she remember last night?

"I'd like to see that."

Emily shook her head and held up her hand. "No. My drinking days are officially over." Her stomach churned at the thought of alcohol. "Do you think we can get an annulment here? Before we go back?" she mercifully tried to change the subject from her back to the matter at hand.

"I don't know. Walter is checking into everything. I have the feeling we may need to wait until we get back to Virginia." Dave checked his watch. Although Vegas time was three hours behind DC, he hoped that the call would come soon.

"I can't wait around," Emily groaned. "I have to go back to my job."

"Do you think they'll grant you extra leave?"

"Heh. I'm not sure I know exactly how to word that request, Rossi. What do I say? 'Um…in a moment of drunken insanity, I got married to a former co-worker, and now we have to sort out the separation details, so I'm going to need a little more time?' Yeah, I don't think they'll go for that." Her fingertip absently circled the rim of the goblet.

"I follow you there. I'm not exactly looking forward to informing Hotch." His eye caught their waiter approaching. "Walter owes me a favour, so, maybe he'll have a trick or two up his sleeve." At that precise moment, Dave's phone buzzed to alert him of an incoming text. Glancing at the screen, he smiled.

"Speak of the devil. Walter has news on our predicament. Hurry and eat, then we'll call him back."

Smiling, Emily picked up her fork. For the first time since she woke up, she felt hopeful. And with any luck, everything would be resolved before she went back to London.

With gusto, she dug into her salad. Really, she thought, what was the worst that could happen?


	5. Chapter 5

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

"I'm glad you're both here," Walter greeted the pair cheerfully. "I see that you finally came into the 21st Century and learned to video conference, Dave."

"I've known how to use it; I just never had much need for it," Dave groused.

"That's his story, and he's sticking to it," Emily spoke up. Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Ah. You must be Emily Prentiss - the one lucky woman who managed to snatch up Dave and break him out of the doldrums." He glanced at the couple. "She's a beauty, Dave. Are you sure you want to let her go?" he playfully winked at Emily.

Emily silently profiled the white haired lawyer on the other side of the screen. He seemed trustworthy and amiable. "So, what did you find out?" she asked.

Walter put on his glasses, shuffled some papers. "I looked into your options. You have two: Divorce and annulment."

Dave stopped twiddling his thumbs. "Well, that narrows it down."

"Well, I figure since you're pretty familiar with the divorce laws in Virginia, we might pursue another avenue," Walter offered. "Annulment is less expensive, for one. It also doesn't require the division of property. The best part is that once it goes thru, your marriage will be nothing more than a memory."

"What do you mean 'nothing more than a memory'?" Emily kept her attention directed at the man on the video feed, instead of the man sitting next to her. She felt her pulse quicken as Dave's cologne weaved around her and tickled her nose. She counted to ten and tried to ignore what it was doing to her.

"Think Britney Spears and her first marriage. An annulment will wipe your record clean – as though it never existed," Walter replied matter of factly. "A divorce, on the other hand, can drag out for months, and in the end, it's there in your permanent record. For life." The words seemed to hang in the air.

Dave exhaled slowly. He knew better than most the truth behind Walter's statement. "It's up to Emily since she is going to be heading back to London in ten days." A feeling he couldn't explain tugged on his heart as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried to ignore the musky scent of Emily's perfume and the effect it was having on his body.

The movement wasn't lost on Emily. "What is required of both options?" she inquired. There was something about Walter that she liked, and she was confident that he was going to end the nightmare that had become her life from the moment she opened her eyes.

"A divorce would require hiring a lawyer to represent you, plus there is the division of property – you could petition to lay claim to Dave's bank accounts and assets – and you may even be awarded a small monetary amount for pain and suffering," Walter said honestly.

A smile tugged at the corners of Emily's mouth. "Sounds tempting, but… I don't think the past few hours have been traumatic enough for compensation," she murmured as the memory of Dave striding across the room naked flashed in her brain. Hot pink blush coloured her cheeks.

"You can waive any right to his monies." Walter wrote furiously on the legal pad in front of him. "I can find you the name of a good lawyer. You can petition for Dave to pay all costs…"

"No," she interrupted. "I take half the blame for what happened, so I can pay for my own attorney."

"Emily -" Dave started his objection. Emily's glare stopped him cold. Three marriages had taught him well, and if the look in her eyes was any indicator, she might end up being a widow instead of a divorcee.

"I'll email you the information on the best lawyers," Walter injected quickly with a glance upward while he continued jotting notes. He turned the page. "How flexible is your schedule?"

"I'm not sure," she quickly tried to calculate how much time she had on the books. With the holidays and winter around the corner, she doubted it highly unlikely that she would be afforded additional time to make frequent trips stateside for divorce proceedings.

"An annulment doesn't require you to be present," Walter offered a life-line with a comforting smile.

"What do you mean?" Dave and Emily asked simultaneously.

"Emily signs a waiver and her attorney presents it on her behalf. She doesn't even have to appear. And in forty-five days – or ninety, depending – both of you will be free."

"Are you saying that in three months Dave and I will no longer be married?" Emily was surprised at the prospect that a legal procedure could be rectified so quickly.

"I'm saying that come Christmas, you and Dave will have no evidence that you took the blind leap of faith," Walter promised. "That is, if you decide to go this route."

Emily weighed her options, but the enthusiasm she had felt only moments ago had suddenly fled to leave her confused and sad. A small shrug was her only reply.

"Dave?" Walter looked at his friend. He couldn't quite read the expression on Dave's face, and he wondered if that was a good thing. He had been there for the three divorces and the countless paternity tests, but there was something different that he couldn't put his finger on. He made a mental note to talk to Dave at their next get together.

Dave hesitated. Initially he was eager to chuck the 'moment of insanity' so he and Emily could move on without a backwards glance. If there was going to be a chance for them to remain friends, ending without any apologies would be the best for all. He looked at Emily's face and gauged her reaction. She wanted this gone. An annulment would insure that no one in their FBI circle of friends would ever find out how they let their guard down and went crazy. He was going to owe Walter for life.

"An annulment seems to be our best option," Dave conceded.

"That settles it. I'll email everything over, first thing in the morning. Emily, I need you to print up the waiver, sign it after you get it notarized, and mail it back. My address will be on the form," Walter instructed. "Once I receive it, I can file the petition in court." He replaced the lid on his pen and straightened his posture.

"Thank you." Emily wanted to pinch herself. Her trip to Vegas had not turned out the way she'd planned, but there might be hope yet of salvaging something memorable.

"I'll also recommend the name of a good attorney, too. I can have him call you." Walter took another look at the couple. He liked to pride himself an expert in who should and shouldn't be married – Lord knew he saw enough evidence in his thirty years of practicing law – but there was something about Dave and Emily that just…fit.

"If you don't have any other questions, I'll sign off. We'll touch base on Monday." Reaching over, Walter turned off his web camera.

Dave powered down his laptop. "I guess it's in Walter's hands now."

"He seems to know what he's doing," Emily mused. "How long have you known him?"

"Since college," Dave answered simply. He looked at her. "What's wrong?"

Emily shook her head. She couldn't explain what she was feeling to herself; how could she explain it to her…Dave? She gave herself a mental kick for almost thinking _husband_.

"Nothing. I'm tired and punchy," she replied with a half smile. "I think I'm still hung-over." _And still in a daze that I married David Rossi and I still have no memory of it,_ she finished silently.

"You didn't eat much at dinner," he pointed out.

"My appetite is still pretty much south." She stood and stretched. "I'm going to miss my event tonight, but I'm turning in early." She massaged her temple in hopes of warding off the beginnings of a migraine. She wanted to go to her room and lie down. Maybe if she got a good night's sleep, she would wake up in the morning and find out that everything was all just a bad dream.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Dave asked out of the blue.

Emily turned to face him. "Why do you want to know?"

"I thought maybe you and I could go sight-seeing, since I'll be leaving in a couple of days to go to New York," he extended the last minute invitation to her.

She gave a sarcastic snort. "Sight-seeing in Vegas? No thanks." She started toward the front door of the penthouse.

"Not Vegas. There is more to this paradise in the desert than Sin City," Dave defended. "I have a car, and I thought we might go for a drive and see what lies outside the city limits."

Emily paused before carefully considering his offer. "I don't know…" she stalled to find an excuse to decline. A weird kind of excitement raced thru her. _Ignore it,_ she ordered herself.

"Fresh air, sunshine…and I promise to be a complete gentleman," he crossed his heart.

Emily studied Dave carefully. He seemed sincere, but… She looked closer. Maybe his lips were saying one thing, but his eyes were saying something totally different. They were so sad, so lost.

"Okay." The word was out before she could stop it.

"Pick you up at eight?"

"I'll be ready."

"Thank you, Emily."

"I'll see you in the morning," she promised. "Good night, Dave." With a flick of her wrist, she opened the door, then closed it silently behind her.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

Standing on the wide patio outside of the penthouse, Emily pulled her lightweight robe closed against the cool desert wind and leaned against the railing. Her gaze searched the stars in the navy blue night sky as she let her thoughts wander back over the last two days.

Heading northwest of Vegas, their first stop had been a wine-tasting at a quaint Bed & Breakfast nestled in a valley outside of Tahoe on day one, followed the next day by a quiet picnic by the shores of Navajo Lake in Southern Utah. She was still trying to catch her breath as they arrived back in Las Vegas just as the sun was slowly settling over the desert horizon.

The hotel concierge had greeted them as they crossed the wide foyer. In his hands was a large basket with the word "CONGRATULATIONS" - a gift from the staff to the newlyweds. Emily started to protest, but Dave shushed her by taking the basket and slipping a tip into the young man's hand. Without a word, he guided her to the elevators and pushed the button to the penthouse.

She should have said no. She should have reached over and pressed the button to the floor where her room was located. But as they stood side by side, the words died on her lips as the heady scent of the fresh strawberries wafted to tickle her nose. Oh, what the hell, she told herself, so what if they were going to be divorced by Christmas; what could it hurt to stay and have one glass of champagne?

The offer of champagne and a soak in the sunken tub was too much for even Emily to pass up. Fresh from her bath, she donned the negligee set she had impulsively bought in Lake Tahoe, and headed outside to clear her head. That's where Dave found her.

"What are you thinking about?" Dave asked as he stepped out on the patio. He handed her the champagne flute.

"How wonderful the last two days have been," she admitted before sipping the bubbly liquid. "Nothing like what I expected."

"What were you expecting?" Dave placed the dish of strawberries on the ledge between them, plucked one out and bit into it.

"Certainly nothing like what we saw." She eyed him carefully as she sipped the bubbly. "You surprised me, to say the least."

"I've been known to surprise even my harshest critic. From time to time," he replied smugly.

"Where did you manage to find those places?" She fought the urge to reach for a strawberry, although its tantalizingly, tempting aroma tickled her nose.

"The Bed & Breakfast was quite by accident. When the BAU was first getting started, we didn't have a private jet to go from one crime scene to another; most of the time we either had to hop a last minute commercial or drive ourselves. A decades long missing person case – which ultimately helped to capture a serial killer – led me and my partner to drive from Seattle thru Northern Nevada." He took another bite of the fruit. "I try to go back once a year."

"It is a nice place," Emily agreed. "But what about Utah? That wasn't a case – unless it had something to do with Bundy."

"Necessity," he replied simply. "Or rather, self-preservation. It was after my second divorce." He sipped the amber liquid and let it roll over his tongue before swallowing. "I didn't see that one coming – to be honest – and I needed to get away. I had just retired from the FBI and my writing career was taking off, and I thought I had the world by the tail." He gave a sardonic chuckle at the memory. "I suppose the laugh was on me."

"I'm sorry." Emily wasn't sure what to say, but she felt the need to say something.

"Don't be sorry. My first bestseller – about Bundy, of course - came out of it, and I found a place to visit when I need to get away," Dave replied. "As long as something good can come out of something bad, nothing is a total loss." He picked a strawberry from the pile and ran it over the bottom of Emily's lip. "Don't you agree?"

Emily's heartbeat quickened. She couldn't breathe. Dave's question rung in her ears, but she couldn't bring her thoughts together to form a reply. "I…yes. What…what are you doing?"

"Sharing. Want a bite?" The strawberry slid seductively across her mouth, begging for attention.

"Rossi…we can't." Her pulse raced faster with each moment. She should leave, just tell him that she was tired and go back to her room. But her feet refused to move.

"Why?" he challenged and outlined her lips. His eyes darkened with unspoken desire.

"It's not…right."

He moved in closer. "We're married. It's more than 'right'. Take a bite." Emily opened her mouth to protest, but her words were cut off by the sweet juice of the fruit. "Tastes good, doesn't it?" Dave took a bite. He dropped the stem in the empty dish.

"Rossi…"

"Dave. Say it," his voice low. He inched in closer.

"D-Dave," she whispered.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" his eyes danced with mischief.

Emily swallowed. "No." But everything else was becoming hard, she thought to herself, hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to move. "We…we're not married. Not really," she spoke up more as a reminder to herself.

"Heh," he chuckled. "That piece of paper I emailed to Walter states an entirely different fact. We're married. At least until we can get the annulment," he finished with a smile. "Tell me that you didn't have fun these past two days."

"I did."

"Tell me that you didn't enjoy spending time with me?" He moved in so close Emily could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"I did. I do," she amended quickly. "It's just…this…I think…"

Dave pushed another strawberry to her mouth. "You think too much, Em. Take another bite." Before she could protest, she was chewing. "You have a little…" he used his thumb to wipe the stray juice from the corner of Emily's mouth, "…right here." He lifted his thumb to his lips. "Mmmm."

"Dave." She tried to clear her head. "Don't…"

"Don't, what?" He dipped his head and trailed kisses along her jaw-line. "You mean this?" He kissed her bottom lip, outlined it with his tongue. "Or this?"

"Ohhh…" she breathed in ecstasy. _Don't weave your fingers in his hair,_ she ordered herself. _Don't do it!_

He kissed a path down her neck to the valley between her breasts. "Tell me you want me to stop." His palm cupped her breast and kneaded it gently. Closing her eyes, she arched into his touch. "Do you want me to stop?"

Her body went from hot to on fire. "No," she moaned and dragged his mouth to hers. Hungrily she kissed him, her fingers weaved into his hair. Dave pulled her close and molded her body to his so she could feel his wanton desire for her. Her moans filled his ears.

Without breaking apart, Dave swung Emily into his arms and carried her across the penthouse to the bedroom. Gently he laid her down on the mattress, his body covered hers. Slowly, he removed her robe and pulled the silk nightie over her head. He looked upon her glorious nakedness, and his mouth went dry. _She is so beautiful,_ he thought.

"Nice." Greedily he suckled as though his life depended on it. "So sweet," he murmured against her alabaster skin. His hand lovingly kneaded the other until Em cried his name.

"Tell me what you want," he said. His pelvis erotically brushed against the apex of her womanhood. Leaning over, he took the other rosy tipped nipple in his mouth and loved it.

"Oh…" Emily tried to form a coherent thought, but he was short-circuiting her brain. It wasn't fair. The feel of Dave's goatee against her skin sent her nerve endings into overdrive. She raised her hips to rub against his hardened desire.

"Em…" he groaned in her ear, "…you're trying to kill me."

"No. Not yet." She dragged his mouth to hers for a deep, wet kiss. Blindly her hands fumbled to release the buttons on his dress shirt, then pushed it off to let it drop to the ground with a whisper. She trailed kisses along his neck.

"Em…" His hands stroked her. God, he wanted her so badly. He tried to tell her, but she was working his belt free, then unzipping his jeans, before pushing them down over his hips. The cool air on his skin made him shiver.

Emily could barely contain herself. Maybe it was wrong what they were doing – at least the common sense part of her was saying that – but she wanted him so badly. And maybe Dave was correct in saying that, right or wrong, they were married. Tomorrow he was leaving. By Christmas their moment of insanity would be nothing more than a memory. Right now was all they had.

Bringing her legs up, Emily used her toes to push Dave's jeans down over his hips, down his thighs. He helped her by shrugging out of the material. Wantonly, he thrust himself against her, letting the silk of his boxers tease her sensitive flesh.

"Oh…god…" she cried softly. Her pelvis began undulating against him. With expert fingers, he fondled her, his finger teasing and tormenting the nub of her desire. He took pleasure as her hips thrust upward, her cries filled the room. Bringing her to the edge, he slipped two fingers inside. He nearly died as her velvet walls held tight.

Slowly he thrust deep, his thumb continued to manipulate her to the point of insanity. "Come for me," he commanded. He watched as her as the orgasm built, then consumed Emily, her body thrusting upward, before shuddering with release. "Tesoro," he murmured, kissing away the single tear which broke free to run down her cheek. His lips brushed hers.

"More," she whispered. Her hands boldly pushed down the silk boxers to expose him fully. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she grabbed his hips and pulled him to her.

Ever so gently, inch by inch, he filled her. "Mmmm," she sighed.

Dave measured his thrusts and set the pace for her join him. Deep and slow, he tried to make the moment last. He wanted to watch her as she went over the edge. He wanted to see the look of fulfillment as he gave her the most earth shattering orgasm of her life.

Shifting his weight, he filled her to the hilt. In a way, this was more for him than it was for her, he reasoned. He needed the release from the demons haunting his nights. He needed to know that he wasn't a failure. He wasn't sure what had brought them to matrimony, but she belonged to him…until tomorrow. Then they would part as friends – or some semblance of what they had before – and once the annulment went through, they would never see one another again. Not after tonight.

But, he argued, his body thrusting faster, they still had tonight. She was his wife, right or wrong, and he was going to make love to her until neither one of them could stand. He was going to make sure that even if she didn't keep his name, he would leave one memory of himself behind.

Emily wrapped her legs around Dave's waist. He could feel the way her body grasped and held him. She was going to kill him, but at least he would go a happy man. He could feel completion start at his toes. He was almost there. But she would go first.

He took her hand and guided it to between their bodies. He wanted to see her bring as much pleasure to herself as he was. Her cries filled his ears, driving him forward. Faster, faster, he pushed her until her body convulsed around him and she sobbed his name.

Dave gave one last thrust, then poured himself inside of her. Once, twice, his body jerked as he filled her with his essence and tried to catch his breath. Leaning down, he kissed her fervently.

Emily traced lazy circles on her lover's back. He was leaving her, tomorrow. But tonight, he belonged to her.

Rolling Dave on to his back, she brushed the hair back from her face and gave him a saucy look.

"My turn."


	7. Chapter 7

_It's no secret that I despise the character who replaced Emily. And to be honest, the actress who replaced Paget makes me want to vomit. I have vowed NEVER to write that character's name, but when it came to this chapter, I was going to have to acknowledge Em's replacement. I think I did a good job, and I managed to keep my vow._

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

Emily pushed open the door to the BAU and smiled as a bittersweet memory hit her. For a moment if she stood in the bullpen, she could remember how it used to be. And she could remember how, for a brief moment, she had belonged to a family she could truly call her own. Doubt filled her, and she shook it off. Right now she was here to see her friends.

Climbing the stairs, she peeked in Hotch's office. It was empty. She hoped that he was in a meeting and not on a case. She tried the door next to his. The light was on, so she knocked.

"Come in," the voice invited. Emily turned the knob and walked inside.

"Hi, Jayje."

"Oh, my God! Em!" JJ jumped up from behind the desk and ran over to grab Emily in her arms. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you call? How long can you stay? Is everything alright? When do you go back?" she fired off the questions so rapidly her words ran concurrently.

Emily laughed. "One question at a time, Jayje." She pulled back and looked at the blonde. It seemed that JJ got more beautiful with each year that passed. Nothing would ever steal the wholesome, natural beauty from JJ.

"Oh, come sit down!" JJ tugged Emily over to the couch against the far wall. "Why are you here?"

"I can't just pop in and say hello to my best friends?" Emily asked innocently.

"Ha! The last time we spoke, you said that your calendar was filled and you would try to see me after the first of the year. What happened?" JJ profiled her best friend and tried to find signs of a lie.

"Change of plans," Emily sighed. "Vegas didn't quite work out the way I had hoped, so I changed my ticket and decided to fly out here and finish my holiday before heading back across the pond to the drizzle and grey."

"Is there something you're not telling me?" JJ looked closer. She was missing something. God, she wished she was a seasoned profiler like Hotch or Rossi, at least they could read Emily.

Emily's smile never left her face. "Nothing that I'm aware of," she evaded, taking JJ's hand in hers and gave a loving squeeze. "So, tell me all the news about the BAU. I saw the empty desk downstairs. Where is-"

"Transferred to Oklahoma City. Strauss's murder was too much for her to handle, so the higher ups thought a change of scenery might be best. Her husband is from that area, too."

"Poor thing."

"Yeah. There had been no love lost between her and Strauss, but she never meant for what happened. I can only imagine how this has been affecting Rossi. He and Strauss seemed to finally reconnect again. Do you think he's cursed when it comes to love?" JJ speculated.

"Eh, I don't know," Emily felt herself begin to sweat. "How's Henry? I brought him something back from Vegas," she changed the topic of discussion.

"Henry is doing great." JJ hurried over to the desk and grabbed a couple of the picture frames. She handed them to Emily. "He started the first grade and already has a girlfriend. He's quite the ladies man," JJ chuckled.

"He's adorable," Emily smiled. "With his mom's good looks, it's understandable. And you?"

JJ took the pictures and set them back in their places. "Will and I are officially separated," JJ confessed. A look of regret crossed her features. "I know it was going to happen, but…"

"He found out what happened at the State Department." Emily sighed. "You guys had called it quits. You had a fling. It's not like you murdered someone."

"You would think that I had, from the way he acted." She tried to block the memory of the hateful fight they had a couple weeks ago and all the nasty insults and barbs thrown out at each other. Her heart still ached. "But I'm not going to think about that right now; you're here to be with me and not listen to my problems," JJ brightened.

"I don't mind listening." Emily saw the look of distress and the heartbreak in JJ's cornflower blue eyes. "And being here is easier than calling London. And cheaper," she added.

"Yes. I agree. But I can munch on malamars while on the phone."

"That is one thing I have missed," Emily's mouth watered at the thought of the tempting delicacy.

"I have a box at home we can polish off tonight," JJ offered.

"Sounds like a plan." Emily checked her watch.

"What's wrong? Is there somewhere you need to be?" she teased.

Emily waved off the question. "It's nothing. As I was coming in, the Director of the FBI saw me and wanted a meeting. I have a few minutes to kill till then," she evaded.

"Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" JJ prompted.

"Jayje, I…" Emily was interrupted by the door bursting open. A colourful whirlwind suddenly filled the room.

"Princess!" Penelope Garcia yelled out loud for the entire bullpen to hear. A second later, the petite computer analyst grabbed Emily up and squeezed her in a tight hug. "You're back!"

"Pen," Emily gasped for air. "I…can't…breathe."

"Sorry." Pen pulled back. "Oh, you beautiful creature! When did you get back? Why didn't you call?"

"I've already been grilled by JJ. But to answer your questions: I got in this morning, and I didn't call because I wasn't sure I was coming until I arrived."

Pen cocked her head. "So, you aren't here because of the help wanted ad?"

"What help wanted ad?" Emily asked stupidly.

"The ad about an opening here in the BAU. Do you think they might be looking for a profiler? Do you think they'll let you come back?" Pen gushed enthusiastically. A wide smile lighted her face at the possibility of her sister coming back to stay.

Emily held her breath and tried to find an honest response. Despite the ache and want she felt, there was no way she could ever come back to the BAU. There was no way she could work across from Rossi day after day without their secret coming to light. No, it was better if she went back to London.

"What's wrong?" Pen asked with concern at the way Emily's face darkened.

Emily brushed a lock of hair from her face. "Nothing. I'm okay." A bright flash caught the women's eyes.

"What's that?" Pen grabbed Emily's hand. "WHAT IS THIS?!" she screeched and held up Emily's left hand for JJ to see. "Oh my god! This is a wedding ring! You got married?!"

"It's not what you think," Emily argued. "It was a moment of insanity."

"JJ, look at the size of this rock!" Pen moved Emily's hand to catch the light. "That must have been one heck of a moment of insanity. Why didn't you tell us? Who is he? Can we meet him?"

"Oh, won't you look at the time," Emily exclaimed. "I have to go. Meeting, remember?"

"But you just got here," Pen protested with a pout.

"I have an idea," JJ interjected. She had questions of her own, but if Pen continued to push Emily, there was a chance the woman would run. No, they had to confront on neutral territory – preferably a place that didn't have someone lurking around every corner. "Why don't we get together for dinner? Where are you staying?"

"The Hyatt Regency."

"That's great!" Pen gushed. "We'll bring the wine and take-out, and you can tell us all about this 'moment of insanity'."

Emily shook her head. "No wine."

Pen and JJ shared a questioning look. "Sure."

Emily gave the women a quick hug. "I'll see you after work, okay? Bye." She waved to them as she hurried out of the office.

"Emily Prentiss is married. Well, I'll be," Pen chortled happily. "Did you know?"

"No. She never said anything," JJ murmured.

"He must be a one in a million guy to snatch the heart of Emily Prentiss." Pen clasped her hands to her heart and swooned dramatically.

"I think there might be more to the story than that."

"Well, there is only one way to find out. Come UNSUBS or high water, you and I are going to be at the Hyatt tonight, chickie," Pen vowed.


	8. Chapter 8

_A couple of surprises I'm sure that you didn't see coming. _

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

FBI Director Richard Farnsworth was busy looking over the stack of papers on his desk. A knock made him look up as the door opened.

"Sir?" the matronly looking secretary asked. "Emily Prentiss is here."

Shoving the stack aside, Richard took off his glasses and stood up. "Show her in, please, Mary." A moment later, Emily walked in to the beautifully furnished office. "Emily Prentiss," Richard greeted enthusiastically and extended his hand. "It's good to see you again."

Emily grasped the Director's hand in a brief shake. "Thank you for wanting to seeing me. Although, I'm not entirely sure why."

"Have a seat," he invited with a gesture of his hand. He waited for her to sit before taking his chair. " First things first: How are you doing?"

"I'm well, sir." Emily glanced up quickly at the row of awards on the wall. Her heartbeat picked up pace. "You?"

"As well as can be expected. I am sure that you've heard about the recent tragedy we suffered," his face briefly darkened with sadness. Then it was gone.

Emily nodded. "I did."

"I know that Erin Strauss was close to your family."

"She and my mother were old friends," Emily supplied trying to distance herself from the woman she both hated and admired. She and Erin had _not_ been friends in anything resembling the term, but now was not the moment to drudge up past grievances.

"My condolences, then, to the Ambassador." Richard studied Emily for a moment before asking, "How is London? Do you enjoy it there?"

"It's cold, but it's become a home away from home," Emily admitted warily. "I'm sure you are quite aware of the weather this time of year."

"I've been there many times. So, what brought you back to the States?" He folded his hands and rested his chin in thought.

"Vacation. Winter is about to begin, and I wanted to get my last dose of sunshine until summertime," Emily fought the urge to come out and ask him what exactly he was fishing for, but her patrician upbringing kept her rooted in her chair, her posture erect and polite. Besides, she told herself, _she _was the seasoned profiler, and he was waiting for her to become defensive. Good thing she was one step ahead of him there.

"Ah." Richard tapped his chin with his forefingers. "How would you like to have sunshine all the time? Save for the harsh winds coming off the Potomac, of course," he corrected with a sly smile.

"I'm not exactly following you, sir," Emily hesitated.

"I'm sure that you are probably tired of London. What if I was to offer you the chance to come back to Virginia?"

"I would say: What's the catch?" she volleyed back at him, and tried not to sound too eager at the prospect.

"No catch. We have an opening here at the BAU, and since you are a trained profiler, I think you would be perfect."

Emily's laugh was short and sardonic. "Thank you for the invitation, but I've already done that once before; it's getting a little trite, don't you think?"

"The team doesn't need another profiler…at least not for a while." He leaned forward, his eyes bore into hers. "I was thinking that you should take Erin Strauss's position as BAU Chief."

Emily blinked in stunned silence. She was expecting almost any offer to come back – except that one! She felt herself begin to sweat and the walls seemed to close in.

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" she asked.

"I'm offering you BAU Chief…if you want it," he repeated.

"Why me? There are so many others more qualified," she argued. "What about Aaron Hotchner?"

"He turned it down. Now I'm turning to you."

"But…"

"I was asked to promote from within. It seems the higher ups tried to hire someone from the outside to take Erin's place, but it isn't working out. We need someone who can work with the BAU without antagonizing them, but still be authoritative when it comes to rules and guidelines." Richard stood up. "Your experience with the CIA more than qualifies you. But it's also your ability to understand politics which makes you truly valuable."

"I hate politics," Emily bit out.

"I hate them, too. But you were raised in that world. You know what's expected and what to expect in return. You know what it takes to get the wheels greased and keep them turning," Richard continued to try and feed her ego.

_Obviously a skill you failed to learn,_ Emily thought to herself. She took a deep breath and counted to ten. It was so tempting to take his offer and come back to her family. She would be home, to never depart.

"Is there something that would prevent you from taking the job?" Richard asked.

Maybe she could slip the ring off and no one would be the wiser, she reasoned. Maybe she could turn him down and walk out the door without a backwards glance. Maybe she could go back to London and pretend that the last five days never happened.

Except that when the background check was conducted, the marriage license would come to light. One way or the other, her third chance at coming back to the BAU would be over before it began.

"Yes, sir, there is. I'm married."

It was Richard's turn to appear flummoxed. "Your records state that you are single."

"Yes, sir. I was…until five days ago. It happened while I was in Vegas on holiday." She paused for him to ask or accuse, but Richard remained silent. "It was a…last minute thing."

"I see. Will this – impromptu marriage – be the reason you couldn't take the job?"

Emily nodded. "Yes, sir."

"May I inquire as to the name of your spouse?"

"Yes, sir, you may; it's SSA David Rossi." There, it was out; the weight was off her shoulders, and now she could leave without regret.

Richard sat down. For a long minute the silence dragged on.

"I see. This can pose as a stumbling block. What is the status?"

"You mean: Are we getting divorced? We're in the process of getting an annulment. It's the best recourse for the both of us."

"Perhaps it is. When is it expected to come thru?"

"Sometime around Christmas," Emily answered vaguely. For all she knew, it could be sooner or later.

"Tell you what. I can give you one week to think it over."

"Sir, I…" Emily protested.

"I'm giving you one week to accept or decline my offer. If you decide to accept, and you are truly getting an annulment, there should be nothing to hinder your performance."

"Sir…"

"As you may have been aware, David Rossi and Erin Strauss had been in an illicit relationship despite her position of authority. There were those who wanted to punish him, but her murder may have been the cruelest and harshest form of punishment," Richard said.

"My friends work in the BAU."

"My friends work in all the departments," Richard returned. "Go home. Think it over. Get back to me with your answer." Indicating that the meeting was over, he stood up. "I'm not going to lie; I want you to take this job. I truly believe that you can bring something fresh and unique to that office."

"I understand."

"And between you and me, I wouldn't let the pesky little detail of being married to David Rossi be the thing that prevents you from saying yes," he winked. "As you may know, he's beyond retirement age, and will be forced out on his birthday, come the end of the month," Richard stated firmly.

Emily opened her mouth, then closed it. What could she possibly say to refute his statement? Instead, she pasted a smile on her face. "I understand."

"I expect to hear from you very soon." Richard extended his hand as a gesture that Emily was to depart and return with the answer he wanted to hear.

"Yes, sir." Emily shook Richard's hand.

The secretary opened the door to lean inside. "Director, your one o'clock appointment is here."

"Thank you, Mary," he dismissed her. "Good day, Emily."

On shaking legs, Emily walked out of the office, past the secretary's desk, down the long hallway toward the foyer, until she pushed thru the double doors adorned with the FBI seal. Making her way to the parking lot, Emily barely remembered unlocking the car and sitting down.

Finally she could let out her breath. "Oh, God," she whispered and closed her eyes. "What have I done?"


	9. Chapter 9

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

"Hi, Princess," Pen greeted enthusiastically and held up the brightly coloured bags. "We come bearing gifts!" Pushing past Emily, she hurried into the hotel room and set the packages down on the coffee table.

"And I brought the pizza and drinks," JJ offered with a smile. The profiler in her looked closer at Emily's face. Something was definitely amiss. "Is everything okay?"

Emily forced a smile. "I'm fine," she assured. "It's been a long week." She stepped aside and let JJ inside. Carefully, she closed and locked the door. "So, what did you bring?"

"Oh, everything!" Pen's face brightened. "Because someone didn't tell us that there was a chance she would be getting married, we have decided to improvise and throw you a 'fare thee well to single-life' party." She reached into the bags and pulled out the items. "We have three different kinds of popcorn, cookies, a cheesecake, and…malamars." She handed the container to Emily.

"Thanks." Emily held them to her breast.

"I figured you haven't eaten, so I brought two pizzas to balance out the junk food," JJ added in a motherly tone.

Emily cast a wary glance at the door and felt herself brace for the knock she knew was coming. "Anything else?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I figured since you brought this for a bachelorette party, the male stripper dressed as the police officer can't be too far behind," she replied tongue in cheek.

"I had entertained the thought," Pen confessed, "but since JJ and I do have to be back to work in the morning, we had to cancel. I thought a Jim Caviezel marathon would be just as satisfying. He is definitely yummy with a spoon," she grinned.

"Emily, we don't mean to pry…" JJ approached the topic cautiously.

"Yes, we do!" Pen interrupted.

"…but where is the lucky guy?" JJ continued without missing a beat.

"Yeah, where is the hubby? Are we going to meet him before you go back to London?" Pen sifted thru the DVDs. "How about we do 'Count of Monte Cristo' first?"

"Sure," she vaguely answered. "My ummm…he's out of town for a meeting," Emily hedged to buy time.

"He left you to go to a meeting? That's not the way a honeymoon is supposed to go, honey," Pen's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Then she brightened. "But his loss is our gain! We are going to have such a good time!" She grabbed Emily in a bear hug.

"Thanks, Pen," Emily gasped. "How about that movie?"

"Sure. I'll put one in now." Pen walked over to the entertainment center.

JJ sat down on the couch. "How did your meeting with the FBI Director go?" she inquired, mercifully changing the subject.

"It…well…it didn't go quite as I expected. It seems that he wants me to come back to the BAU." Emily sat beside her.

"You're kidding! You're coming back?" Pen spun around, her face bright with anticipation. "When?"

Emily shook her head. "It's not what you think." Deep breath. "He offered me…Erin Strauss's job."

"BAU Chief? Wow!" JJ smiled. "I didn't see that coming."

"Neither did I."

"But you said yes."

"I said…no. Sort of," Emily replied. She wrung her hands nervously.

"What do you mean 'sort of'?" Pen snorted. "It's one answer: YES!"

"I can't. For two reasons…"

"Which are?"

"Conflict of interest. I worked with you guys for five years," Emily stated reasonably. But as she made her case, it sounded weak – even to her. "I can't be in charge and be unbiased."

"Sweetness, you are the most unbiased person I know," Pen stated, her hands on her hips. "You compartmentalized better than Hotch….and that is saying something."

"Pen is right," JJ spoke up. "We won't be able to have morning coffee, nor will we be able to just burst into your office without an appointment, but you'll be there. With us."

"Oh, Jayje," Emily blinked back the sudden rush of tears. "You know what exactly to say. But it's not that easy. It's the second half of that conflict that keeps me from saying yes."

"Then explain. I'm sure that we can find a way around it," JJ soothed.

"It's your husband, isn't it?" Pen asked. "He doesn't want you to take it. Let me talk to him. I'll change his mind."

"It's not that." Emily felt her cheeks grow hot. "I think there is something I need to tell you…"

"Wait! Are you preggers? Is that why you're not drinking wine?" It was all Pen could do to keep from jumping up and down.

Emily's mouth fell open from shock. "Oh, my god, no! No! I'm not pregnant. We used protection." _A lot _of protection_,_ she added silently.

Pen tried not to appear crestfallen. "Then what's the problem?"

"I don't think…" Emily tried to find the right words. Of course, '_Hey, I got drunk and married David Rossi and have absolutely no memory of it whatsoever. Pass the popcorn,_' wasn't something one could just casually pop into everyday conversation.

"At least tell us your married last name," Pen insisted. "So we know what to call you."

"Rossi."

The DVD slid out of the case and hit the carpeted floor with a soft thud. Stupefied, Pen and JJ looked at Emily. It was their turn to be left with their mouths wide open. For the longest minute, painful silence filled the room.

"Did you say 'Rossi'?!" Pen squeaked.

"I did," Emily owned up.

"Oh, Emily," JJ could see the bleakness and embarrassment in her friend's eyes.

"No." Pen waved her hands. "No. No. No. Let me get this straight: You, Emily Prentiss, married the FBI Lothario and agent, David Rossi?"

"Yes."

"How the hell did that happen?! Were you drunk?!"

"Penelope!" JJ admonished.

"I'm sorry, Jayje, but there has to be some kind of explanation for Emily taking the big leap with the thrice married/thrice divorced David Rossi," Pen argued.

"To answer your question: Yes, we were both drunk. The chapel made a commemorative DVD for us." A DVD she refused to watch. She had had no desire to see the ceremony and how she made a fool of herself.

Instantly contrite, Pen hurried over to sit down on the couch. "Oh, Emily, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said." She took Emily's hand in hers and held tight.

"It _was_ a moment of insanity," Emily defended. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"Emily, did you see the rock on your finger? I doubt that what you did was a mistake," Pen disputed. "A man does not buy a woman diamond the size of Quantico unless he really likes her."

"I doubt that he knew it was me, PG," Emily quipped sarcastically. "We both don't remember much after the first Mai-Tai."

"David Rossi drank a Mai-Tai? I wish I could have seen that!" Pen covered her mouth as soon as the words were said. "Sorry."

"No offense taken. Wish I could remember it, myself," Emily said. "Then we woke up in bed together, and I had this ring on my finger." Nervously she twisted it around on her finger.

"Sounds romantic…almost," Pen tried to sound positive. "You know, the same thing happened to me and Derek. Sort of."

"But you didn't marry him," Emily shot back.

"Not from lack of trying. But you managed to nab the second best guy at Quantico. Now you're going to live your happily ever after," Pen sighed dramatically. "And we can have a real wedding. And JJ and I can arrange the reception. Oh, I've been wanting to do this for the longest time," her words ran together so fast it was impossible to follow or get a word in edgewise.

Emily held up her hands to halt her friend's thought process. "Whoa! Penelope! There is not going to be another wedding. We are getting an annulment. In fact, we've already started the process."

"What?" Pen's big brown eyes looked at Emily in confusion. "But…but…you two obviously had something there to make you want to take the giant leap…"

"We were drunk, and I don't think he realized he was marrying me," Emily confessed. "He was in Vegas drinking Strauss's memory away."

"Are you sure?" Pen looked skeptical. She had to be missing something. She was sure of it.

"Got it straight from the bartender who had served him all four nights he showed up to turn his blood type to malt scotch." A weird feeling coursed thru her at the memory of Randy the bodybuilder turned bartender. What would have happened had she not walked into the bar that night?

"So, you see, there is no reasonable way for me to stay," Emily continued. "And even if I wanted to take the position, the annulment won't be finalized until Christmas. Rossi comes back in a week." _Except, if she bided her time, the FBI would force Rossi out; she could come back. _No, she gave herself a mental shake. She was not going down that road. She had plans back in London. And not one of them included David Rossi.

"You're married. There are plenty of married couples at the FBI," Pen stated logically. "You can make it work."

"We don't want to make it work. Even Dave…Rossi admitted that we made a mistake. I'm going back to London. He's coming back here. It's the way it should be," Emily made her point incisively. "I'm not going to argue about it."

Pen blinked fast. "I am selfish. I want you to stay," she sniffed. "Married or not."

"It will be okay," Emily attempted to soothe the ruffled feathers of her friend. "We still have tonight. Let's watch the movie. I'll even share my malamars," she offered the peace offering.

"Alright," Pen grudgingly gave in. Her feet were heavy as she walked back to the TV.

"Pen is right," JJ whispered. "We want you to stay. But I stand behind your decision. Have some popcorn," she thrust the bag at Emily.

Emily didn't hear the sound of the movie starting, her thoughts were elsewhere. Deep down inside she, too, wanted to come back, but how? And at what cost to her and the team?


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry for the length, but I want to think that Dave has more than one confidence besides Hotch who knows him better than he knows himself._

**The Last Unbroken Heart**

* * *

Tucked in the corner of the restaurant, Walter looked up in time to see Dave enter the room. With his hand he gestured his friend over.

"Good to see you, Dave."

"You too, Walter." Dave sat down opposite.

"How was the flight?" Walter sipped from the glass of water and cautiously eyed the man who had been his friend for nearly forty years. "You look tired."

"It was long," Dave admitted. "Thank God for First Class accommodations. Still doesn't help with the turbulence, though." He caught the look in Walter's eyes. "What?"

"You're alone. I was hoping Emily would have accompanied you," he replied wistfully.

Dave sighed. He had gotten thru the last two days without thinking about Emily, but of course Walter would have to bring her up. "As far as I know, she's back in London doing whatever her crowd does." He picked up the menu and attempted to feign interest.

"That's too bad. I like her."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "You don't even know her."

"Well, from what I saw, I liked. And I am pretty sure you feel the same way," Walter observed saucily.

"What I feel doesn't matter," Dave retorted. "We're getting the annulment, and we'll probably never see each other again."

"What you feel does matter," Walter contradicted. "I've known you the equivalent of two lifetimes, and I have never seen you jump into something with someone the way you did with Emily. Obviously, you like her."

"We were partners at the BAU for nearly five years, and I helped her out when she was in dire straits, and she did the same for me when I lost Carolyn. So, yeah, I guess I liked her well enough. What does that have to do with anything?" Dave turned his attention to the printed words under the plastic covering.

"Depends on whether you want to tell me the truth." Walter adjusted his glasses. The movement was not lost on Dave, who had seen that gesture many times in the courtroom – right before Walter lit into the defendant.

"You aren't scoring any points with me, Wally, because I know your tricks – inside and out – and this isn't the courtroom. Besides, I'm the profiler at the table," Dave stated impatiently.

"It doesn't take a profiler to notice that you are head over heels for your wife."

"She's not my wife," Dave groused.

"She is…until I can file the paperwork. Even then, you have a week to contest it."

Dave laid the menu down. "Need I remind you that Emily Prentiss carries a Glock and is a sharpshooter? If I contest anything, it will be my death sentence."

"I knew I liked her."

"Is there a direction this conversation is heading?" Dave asked.

"She complements you."

"_Many_ women have complemented me."

"Oh yeah. Let's go down the list, shall we?" Walter started counting on his fingers. "Emma…then Carolyn…Gretchen, the model…followed by Serena, wife number two….then Priscilla…Maggie…Joan…Sharon…Isabella, the circus performer –"

"She was a contortionist," Dave corrected.

"Diane, wife number three," Walter continued without missing a beat, "Marta…Debra…Tatianna…and last, but not least, Erin." He saw the dark cloud in Dave's eyes. "I'm still so sorry about that one."

"Thanks for pointing out my lousy track record with women. Will it be alright for me to order the rib-eye, or are you going to lecture me on the dangers of red meat and cholesterol?"

"Touché." Walter motioned to the waiter that they were going to need a few more minutes.

"I'm sure that there is a point to revisiting my list of girlfriends/lovers/wives of past."

"There is."

"And I am sure that you are going to let me know what it is," Dave prompted.

"They looked good on your arm, but you complemented them. Though Erin came the closest to being the right one. And I am sure that you had found happiness with Erin. But Emily complements you."

"It won't work out. It never works out with co-workers. Or have you forgotten that I am the reason behind most of the fraternization policies at the FBI?"

"She isn't your co-worker anymore. Besides, even if she was, weren't you thinking about retiring after your birthday?" Walter reminded.

"Maybe."

"What are you afraid of? Oh wait!" Realization slowly dawned on Walter. "Emily Prentiss…wasn't she the one who had to fake her death to prevent a terrorist from coming after the BAU?"

"She was."

"I thought the name was familiar. Remember when you called me to tell me what happened? I wondered how you could be so broken up over someone you hadn't been intimate with."

"She was my partner."

"You lost two partners during your first tenure," Walter gently reminded.

"They weren't women."

"Exactly. You loved Emily."

"Walter…" Dave shifted in his chair.

"You're scared of losing another second chance."

Dave blinked. "I'm not following you. Please explain."

"You never got the second chance you hoped for with Emma. I know that you were hoping that she would realize that she loved you and leave her husband that night you ran into her at the theatre. And Carolyn…I'm going to be honest, but that torch you've carried for her for thirty plus years did nothing but put out the possible fires with wives number two and three."

Dave reached for the glass of water. He took long, measured sips.

"She led you to believe that you were going to get a second chance, but she hurt you worse than any woman – before or since – and I know that you tried to get over her. Erin was your second chance. She was your true love. She was the reason you left, then came back to the BAU," Walter recalled. He watched as the emotions passed across Dave's face. "I know you went to Vegas to forget."

"I was trying," Dave admitted with a sardonic snort. "I got side-tracked."

"By the last person you ever expected to walk back into your life. Out of curiosity, what _was_ Emily doing in Vegas?" Walter wondered.

"Her 'Sin To Win' was moved from Atlantic City to Sin City."

Walter's eyebrows jumped and his eyes danced with delight. "Ah. 'Sin To Win'. Many a good memory has been made there."

"You?" Dave sputtered in disbelief. "No," he raised his hand, "I don't want to know."

"Emily could very well be your second chance…if you put aside the fear of being led down the primrose path and then kicked to the curb. You love her."

"Walter…"

Walter cocked his head. "You married her while you were in a drunken stupor. Many people don't even have that going for them when they take their vows. And trust me. I've been on both sides of the divorce card to know this for a fact."

Dave managed a smile. "What do you suggest I do?"

"Woo her. Even if she's in London, if you do it right, she won't be able to resist. At least try to give this moment of insanity a chance. Besides…" Walter let the word hang as he quenched his dry throat. "I think you're missing the obvious."

"Alright, you got me. What is the obvious?"

"I'm sure that you slept with Emily…"

Dave's eyes narrowed. "We had…intimate relations, yes. But we used protection."

"Faithfully?"

"Dammit, Walter. We…" Dave instantly recalled that last night in Vegas. He and Emily had gotten so carried away that neither had given much thought to protection. Oh shit! "We got careless. Once."

"She might be pregnant."

"Any words of wisdom, Obi Wan?"

"Go after her. You have ninety days, so make the most of them. If she is, and if you both decide to call it quits, I'll file divorce papers and work something out to benefit you three."

"And if she isn't?"

"The annulment papers go down to the courthouse the next day. You got nothing to lose either way, Davy."

"Thanks. Now can we order? If I'm going to face Emily, I first have to face Hotch. And I want to make my last meal count," Dave pleaded and picked up the menu. "And you're picking up the tab."

"It's the least I can do. Just consider naming it after me, okay?" Walter picked up the menu and indicated that they were ready to order.

"Only if it's a girl."

Walter's response was a wide grin.


End file.
